THE CONDEMNED SOUL

A boy who used to let his soul slip out of his body. One day he had a terrible shock to the extent that he forgot who he was. Later on he discovered that his body had been buried.

                        

      In a dead silence, autumn began saying farewell to the mournful city, after having forced all the trees to throw away their yellowish shattered clothes. The tepid wind was roaring. The dry leaves of the trees, spread everywhere, had a tremor of cold fear. Scarlet dust was covering the wrathful sky, and thwarting the opaque sunrays from arriving to the thirsty groaning soil.

      Streets were scarcely full of people. In such a bad weather, everyone preferred to stay at home, except those who admire the severity and stonehearted nature of…

      As usual, after every lunch, I stretched myself on a straw mattress in my poky mysterious room, and let my soul slip out of my corpse to have a stroll outdoors. This may be illogical to have a travelling soul, but the unusual may happen, if not as a concrete reality, at least it would be considered as a mere illusion, or…

      So I got rid of my body- this cumbersome and nasty matter. Then I started sauntering freely in the still streets of the quarter-one of the noisiest and most piled popular slums in the city where I dwelt, where I dwell, where I have been dwelling; I don’t know.

      All of a sudden, my thirsty eyes were thoroughly lured by the presence of an emaciated young man. He was about his seventeen years old; lean, with tousled dusty hair. His black eyes were sparkling like two misty stars in a murky sky. His burnt lips were as yellow as brass, and so was his wraith-like face. Having seen him in that serious state, I assumed that all humanity’s problems were incubating his delirious head. Strange! I succeeded even in reading into his mind, which was repeating telegraphic and staccato words: "…people…birds…crows…crescent…I…dogs…cages…misery…goodbye…death…"

      Then, a frosty interruption followed as if his thoughts were shattered to pieces. I endeavoured to comprehend what these silent words meant, but vainly. This crossword puzzle, as it seemed to me, was indeed a dangerous enigma, which I could not explain, after all.

      Suddenly, the heavens started weeping like an innocent child shedding red tears. A stream of effervescent words sprang from the worn bottom of his mind.

      "Eventually rain will oblige these few rats to enter their nightmarish hollows. This will let me stay forlorn in my isolated world."

      Straight afterwards people began rushing towards their homes as if a spectre were running after them.

      Then, the lad moved from the place where he had been standing, his back against an old leafless tree. He kept on walking in the heavy rain. He was utterly emerged in his world that he felt nothing at all, nothing. I went on observing him enthusiastically. That is why I followed him until he arrived near an old man worn in shabby clothes. On the spur of the moment, I decided to come as close to them as possible so as not to miss such a discussion.

      "Hey, boy! What are you doing here in such a rai…rainy day?" inquired the old man.

      "I'm walking…well, just for…pleasure," replied the boy in a faint voice.

      "You know…First of all, what's your name?”

      "Issa."

      "You know, Issa, that only crazy people leave their homes in such a beastly weather."

      "I presume that I am a mad, and I’m wondering who you are, a philosopher?" said Issa mockingly.

      "Perhaps. By the way, tell me, have you got a house?"

      "Yes. But why?"

      "Well, simply because …You see ...You’ve got a house. So normally you must be at home. But I’ve no home at all. That’s why I’m obliged to take shelter at any corner. It doesn’t matter."

      "But …who said I’ve a house?"

      "What? Who said it? Of course you did."

      "I acknowledge I’ve said it, but in fact it’s wrong."

      "Then," said the old man curiously", make yourself clear!"

      "Reality is that I have a hearth. This is only from the point of view of society, people, regulations…But mine is totally different from theirs. What I’m feeling is heart-rending, terrible. I have a house, or more precisely I live in a house with my family. I’ve friends. Unfortunately I feel that I’m an outsider. Yes an outsider.”

      Issa screamed with all his strength that the echo of his scream might have reached the cursed temples of the Pharaohs. Just after, thunder, in his turn, uttered a painful perpetual cry.

      "I’ve tried to understand the world, people, but vainly," proceeded Issa nervously. "The world is the world, strange and cruel. People are people, crows and crooks."

      "Be quite my boy and try to understand!”

      "Dare you pronounce that word?" shouted Issa."I’m fed up with thinking, fed up with understanding. Thinking, rethinking, and at length understanding. But understanding what? Sufferings, desperation, the foolish world, the porcine greediness of people, the muddy present and the tar-coated future. And what else?"

      "Well," interrupted the old man innocently,” you shouldn’t trouble yourself so much for it’s very bad for your mind. It’s in your benefit to forget, or at least pretend to see nothing at all."

      This made Issa repeat two lines from Bob Dylan’s "Blowing in the Wind":

      "Yes ‘N’ how many times can a man turn his head,

      Pretending he just doesn’t see? "

      "Forget!" Issa then burst into rage. "You know what this word means for me. To commit a suicide."

      "You’re so strange that I can’t understand your weird ideas clearly, "said the old man confusedly.

      "Of course you can’t. It’s obvious that old people never understand! But wait a minute and I’ll show you who I am."

      Issa turned like a rusty screw around and stopped. He showed the old man a young bird trembling at the feet of a giant Gate. It was dyed in a bloody liquid and decorated with black swastikas on its cannibal corners.

      "You see that bird quivering over there", proceeded Issa.  "It’s simply me. And now could you tell me if he has wings?"

      "Sure it has,” affirmed the old man. "Before you came it had been flying alone in the sky, but was forced to take shelter near that Gate because of the bad weather."

      "So, what‘s he doing there? You’ve said he has wings. Unfortunately he does nothing. He’s just waiting; waiting for miracles in the world of illusion, waiting for lies, waiting for the impossible."

      The more Issa spoke, the more the tone of his voice became acute and trenchant. The old man remained speechless. He did not interfere at all. When Issa broke off he said submissively.

      "You see my boy…Sometimes destiny interferes and controls people’s deeds."

      "Oh really?" Chuckled Issa to himself. "I’ve expected that you would mention this poor, innocent destiny. Destiny has nothing to do with that particular case. Instead of staying like a slothful pawn in this severe winter, the bird must have gone with the others to see the world, to discover the unknown, to go where the Sun is shining. Now, let me give you a simple example. A young person, a male or female, it all depends, goes up to the top of a building and throws oneself from over there. We all may agree that it was fated the person should die. But the question is who is responsible? Who? Of course the person oneself is responsible this cowardice. If not God would never said that those who commit suicide shall be sentenced to the Hades."

      Issa stopped talking for a while, then proceeded in a mournful tone. "Oh, destiny, destiny! They've from you a criminal. You've become a mere towel. Everyone who has contaminated his muddy hands with sins or with people's suffering blood wipes them with it. People kill other people in the name of des-ti-ny, exploit them in the name of des-, people even slaughter the crescent in the name of d…"

      Streams of injured tears flowed down the old man's furrowed cheeks.

      "Please my boy! Be quiet and return to your home where you can find security, after all."

      "It's quite impossible to go back home now," said Issa firmly. "I must challenge that silly bird and…He's staying submissively like a pawn in chess-field; though he's magnificent wings with which he can fly to enjoy the sweet moment of liberty. Contrarily I've got no wings and still I am flying up and up, farther and farther in the infinite realm of the sky .I must evaporate both body and soul."

      "But how that can be?" exclaimed the old man amazingly.

      "You want to know," replied Issa desperately. "So, please wait a minute and you'll see."

      A frozen silence as agonizing as mourning reigned everywhere. This hollow silence made me feel so frightened. What truly increased my anguish was that I did not find a convincing explanation for my anxiety.

      During the deluge of this confusing silence, a black lorry appeared at a distance. The more it advanced savagely towards us, the more my heart throbbed with pain, as if a great danger was about to take place. I was so haunted by such fiendish ideas that I paid no heed to Issa and what he going to do.

      When the distance between the lorry and us was about ten meters, not more, Issa hurled bravely towards the middle of the road where the lorry was passing at great speed and…Oh my Lord! A disaster!

      "Nooooo…" I cried with all my shattered feelings. It was terrible. It was as if the lorry had knocked me over. I felt a horrid pain chewing my heart. Indeed, this incident upset me completely to the extent that I wondered what I was doing outdoors. I tried to remember, but vainly I could not. How could I remember and this terrible scene was engraved in my bleeding memory?"

      Issa was stretched out like a non-aligned salad on the deserted road. His innocent blood mingled with the rainwater that remained stagnant on the surface of the hopeless streets because of the lack of effective sewers.

      I decided to quit the scene of disaster in order that I might remember what had happened to me. After hours of concentration, my memory opened the doors to my hopeless inquiries. Ultimately I found who I am.

      So I made my way towards home so as to join my cold body. But I was shocked to find that the house where I live was very upset- voices screaming, eyes and hearts weeping. It was about 8: 00 p.m. in the evening. When I entered my room, I did not find my body! Oh, Lord! Where's my body? Where is my identity? I really went mad.

      I went to my weeping mother to ask her about my body. I asked everyone in the house, but no one ever seemed to hear my voice. While I was roaming around like a fool in sheer surprise and ultimate desperation, it happened that I heard a muffled voice saying to my mother.

      "Please do accept my condolences. Really I was astonished when your husband informed me that your son, Moussa had passed away!"

      When I heard him pronounce my name, I felt that the whole world was crashing down on my head. I cried and cried. Swarms of unhappy tears flowed down my thirsty cheeks.

      "You have no right to bury me under earth while I still exist." I howled to them in agony.

But vainly no one listened to me simply because the Spiritual world is totally different from the Material one. Hence no one would hear my voice. I represented an obscurant past for them. Though I was overwhelmed with grief and despair, I laughed .Yes I laughed since it's strange to consider someone as being dead while in fact he does exist.

      I left this mournful atmosphere, as my presence was futile. Although the sky was overcast, I was able to see the overcast crescent which was surrounded by two big masses of clouds; one on the left, it was red, the other on the right, it was black. It seemed, though it was a bit difficult for me to identify the shape, that these masses form-ed a Latin Cross in the crescent heart. Nowhere to go, I spent the whole night walking in the streets of this sleeping city until darkness was forced to run away from an army of distant, luminous sunrays.

      I hesitated a bit to go to the cemetery to see the tomb where my buried body was sleeping peacefully against my will. At last I decided to go. Indeed I did not have any problem to find my grave. On the contrary, no sooner had I arrived than I went straight forwards to it. There I read my silent epitaph. When silence drowns the screams, confusion would be my epitaph.

      Suddenly I saw a young man walking in the necropolis from one side to the other without over passing its dismal boundaries. Then I heard a voice speaking. It was an old woman's. She was sitting on a rock near a tomb, and was surrounded by some other women.

      "Have you noticed that young man over there?"

      "Yes…yes," replied the women all together.

      "Well," said the old woman, tears mingled with her reticent voice, "he's the son of that woman laying under the grave, just next my husband's."

      "He seems to be a fool," interrupted one of the women. "Have you got any idea about what happened to him?"

      "That's what I wanted to tell you," the aged woman went on. "He was living with his flimsy mother and stone hearted father who divorced the mother and denied his own son though this young lad is really his. The mother could not bear that; she had a heart attack and died. His mother's death and people's severity made him lose his…sanity. And now, as you see, he's wandering in this cemetery which has become since then his only world."

      The woman kept on gossiping. But the fact that I was completely attracted by the young man prevented me from listening to the women's discussion .On the spur of the moment he came close his mother's tomb and began weeping .He stopped abruptly and burst into laughter. Then he started repeating unhappily some lines from Catherine Ribeiro's album "Liberté".

      "Je vis dans un monde pas fait pour moi ;

       Un monde de chien-loup fait pour personne-

       Trois quarts de l'humanité subit;

       L'autre quart se fracasse la tête et le c�"ur contre le mur.

       Je n'ai pas souhaité vivre,

      Personne d'entre nous n'a souhaité naître.

      Pourtant nous sommes  là;

      Nous devons faire avec la vie."

      Yes, I live in a world not done for me; a world of wolf dogs done for no one. Three quarters of humanity suffer; the other quarter smashes the head and the heart against the wall. I didn't wish to live. No one amongst us ever wished to be born. Yet we are here; we have to do with life.

      Though my soul was condemned to be margined in this nasty game, I was at least at ease because at last I would be free- far from this city, far from this world, and above all far from people that I've never understood, never, never, never!

      “A bird I am,

      This body was my cage.

      But I've flown,

      Leaving it as a token.”

By Mr. Mimoun Zeggai

Oujda 1999